Winter’s Children: Curl up with this gripping, page-turning mystery as the nights get darker. Leah Fleming

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СКАЧАТЬ we do, Dennis?’ Eunice looked up shaking her head.

      ‘We’ve got each other and a chance to visit your friend in Bath, who’s been begging us for years to come and stay. It’s time we moved on too. They’ll come and see us when they’re settled, won’t you?’ Dennis pleaded.

      ‘Of course, and you can come and visit us in the New Year,’ Kay said, relieved that her decision was out in the open. There was no turning back from this strange impulse to get the hell out of Sutton in time for Christmas, to find somewhere to hide from the festivities, where no one knew her as ‘that woman who lost her hubby on Christmas Eve'.

      They were lucky. There was insurance money enough for choices and treats and distractions. Now she was going to follow that dream. That was enough for now.

      Kay stubbed out her cigarette, peering into the darkness. She was taking a ridiculous gamble in renting a house she had never seen, but it felt right. Wintergill sounded so solid and the perfect spot to hide for a few months until she rethought their future. It would be a bolt hole. The darkness of the season would shield them from view. No one knew their business here. Few would remember her mother, who left home when she was a student. If only her parents were still alive but, as an only child, she’d no family of her own for support.

      The move would give her time to sort Evie’s understanding of why Daddy could never be on her Christmas list.

      She wound down the window further and sniffed the air. The snow had turned back to rain, dowsing her face with stinging droplets. It was time to make her way down the track. Time to test out her fantasy and the four-wheel drive.

      Nik was soaking in the bath when he heard the doorbell ring in the hall and Muffin barking wildly. There was no expecting his mother to answer it for him for she was down in Wintergill, not due back until she had caught up with all the doings down the dale.

      The keys for the Partridges were waiting on the hall table. The couple were late, very late and Nik had hoped with all the rain Yorkshire had been having lately they might have called off their holiday. The barometer was looking grim. Townies were soft when it came to bad weather. He tried to ignore the ringing but it carried on. Nik grabbed a towel and sloshed his way downstairs, leaving a trail of drips on the dark oak.

      ‘Yes?’ he answered gruffly.

      ‘This is Wintergill House?’ said a woman, shivering in the doorway, trying not to stare at his shrunken towel. ‘Yes.’ He tried to look casual.

      ‘I’m sorry we’re so late but we got held up. I’ve come for the key. Sorry to disturb you.’

      ‘No problem,’ he replied, muttering oaths and curses to himself. ‘Come inside while I change.’ He left a trail of drips up the stairs when he left her standing in the hall examining the old prints and the black oak panelling. Damn and blast, he’d have to get dressed and sort them out. Why couldn’t they have arrived at a civilised hour? This was just the sort of nuisance holiday lets invited. His quiet evening in was spoiled now. He searched for his keys in the clutter on the table.

      Time was when they could leave everything unlocked on the farm – doors, tractors, pickups. Now it was getting like Fort Knox. Only last month some spark took a length of coping stones from the tops of their boundary walls; hundreds of them, to be sold for a fiver a time on some car-boot sale miles away, no questions asked. The quad bike had to be locked in the barn or it would go walkabout.

      Nik pulled on his jeans and sweater, his ragged Barbour and old flat cap out of habit. Muffin jumped in on the act, thinking they were going out into the fields in the back of the pickup. The moon was rising now in the dark sky. The storm had abated as he guided the Land Rover towards the Side House. There was only a woman and a child in the car. Where was the couple Mother was expecting? She would not be well pleased at a child in tow.

      The courtyard was in complete darkness, only the working dogs barking at the arrival of strangers. He took them down the track to Side House Barn and brought out the keys from his pocket. It was usually Mother’s job showing lets around the house, pointing out switches and timers and points. He just about knew about the fuse box and the fuel store. This was women’s work.

      ‘The storage heaters are on. The place is warm and aired. Mrs Snowden will see to the rest in the morning. She’s left a welcome basket on the table so help yourself,’ he answered, standing in the darkness, not thinking of anything else to say. Be damned if he was going to make a fuss.

      ‘Thank you,’ nodded the redhead in a bobble hat. ‘Say thank you, Geneva.’

      The child surveyed her surroundings suspiciously. ‘Is this it?’ Evie was half asleep. ‘It’s dark. I don’t like–’

      ‘That’ll do, Evie. She’s so tired. I thought we’d be staying in Wintergill House itself,’ ventured the woman.

      He could feel their disappointment and shrugged his shoulders, towering over the two strangers. ‘Oh, not another one … You can thank Bruce Stickley’s website for any misinformation given to you. He puts our house on the website and describes the cottage but omits to say they’re separate. You can have him for trade descriptions but this is what’s on offer. It’s all brand new. I’ll leave you both to it then, Mrs Partridge.’

      He backed off towards the courtyard and his own back door with relief. He’d done his good deed for the day and now it was time for a whisky and some Bach.

      Kay was in no mood for arguments when Evie started whingeing, sniffing the stale farmyard aromas of disinfectant, old manure and mud in the sharp air.

      ‘I don’t like this place, it smells.’

      ‘We’re here now. Let’s unpack what we need for tonight and have some cocoa. It’s late and we’re both tired. We’ll take stock in the morning.’ Kay was trying to keep the disappointment out of her own voice when she looked at the barn conversion. It smelled of pine and fresh paint, of emptiness and newly lined curtains, hardwood windows and a Radoxy smell of artificial cleansers.

      Their accommodation was pristine, neat, perfectly appointed but soulless: neutral with sea grass carpeting, ubiquitous pine furnishings, very nineteen eighties décor. The kitchen was spotless, well fitted with basic utilitarian units. What had she been expecting? A clutter of dark oak, stone-flagged floors, ancient beams and a large inglenook fireplace. This was not how her granny had lived in their Bankwell cottage.

      This house could be lifted up and transported to any suburb. Even the pictures on the walls were tasteful prints, discreet old maps and villagey scenes. Suddenly Kay felt tears welling up. They were exiles in a foreign land at the mercy of strangers. The man could not have been more gruff and begrudging. Perhaps his wife would be more helpful. Her heart was sinking with weariness. What have I done, uprooting us into this soulless place?

      She poured the cocoa for her exhausted child, made up her bed with the plastic mattress cover. Since all the upheaval Evie was unreliable at night. Kay rooted in the box for her daughter’s toadstool lamps and Beanie Babies. They would need no rocking tonight.

      Then she poured a generous dollop of rum into her cup of cocoa from the booze box. There was no going back now. They were stuck up a track in a house on top of a hill. She was following that strange dream for better or worse, but why did things always seem worse in the dark?

      Next morning Kay woke with a start, staring up at a beamed ceiling. The silence was unnerving: no town noises; brakes screeching, doors slamming, radio blaring or police sirens in the distance. Both of them had СКАЧАТЬ